


here's to the fools who dream

by dantique



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Phil POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dantique/pseuds/dantique
Summary: As they leave the cinema, the velvety piano that had played throughout the film swirls around Phil’s brain and carries him onto the street. Music doesn’t really make sense to him the way it does to Dan, but the soundtrack had been beautiful and it fills his heart with melancholy and nostalgia and serenity all rolled into one.(Or, the one where it's snowing and Dan and Phil go to the cinema.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never seen snow OR La La Land, so I hope this is at least mildly convincing.

The sky outside their living room window is heavy with the promise of snow, and the anticipation seeps through Phil’s baggy jumper and entwines around his ribcage, instilling him with a strange sort of warmth that only really belongs to January. It’s cosy inside, and the house is almost spotless but for that one cluttered shelf in the corner of their living room that neither of them can be bothered to sort through.

They breathe easier when the apartment is tidy, and he turns from the window to survey their handiwork. It’s the result of three coffees, the _Undertale_ soundtrack drifting softly from Dan’s speakers and five straight hours of rigorously sorting through their apartment, interspersed with snippets of mindless conversation and the gentle easiness that defines all of their interactions. _How has it been five years?_ he thinks, and he feels the corners of his mouth tug into an involuntary smile as he recalls the words that had been unspoken when Dan had shoved an unused picture frame in Phil’s face and asked _“I should just chuck this, right? We have like no room.”_ When Phil thinks of the year ahead he thinks of boxes, and of bubble wrap, and a proper house of their own. His stomach fills with warmth knowing Dan thinks of all that too.

-

“Hey Dan,” he says softly, standing in Dan’s open doorway. “Put this on.”

He plucks Dan’s coat from where it had been hanging on the door handle and tosses it at his head.

“Oi,” says Dan, letting the coat sink to the floor and turning to face Phil. “What for?”

“We should go see _La La Land_.”

Dan just stares up at him, drumming his fingers against his leg incessantly. He’s sat at his desk, the computer behind him open on a document crammed with notes for his new video, and Phil can already sense the cloak of panic and buzzing nerves that tends to shroud Dan in the lead-up to an upload on his main channel. It’s a perfectionism that presses at Dan’s temple, whispers in his ear that it’s never going to be good enough, steals Dan’s attention and hides him away in his bedroom until the edit is finished and Phil can convince him it’s brilliant.

“What, right now?” Dan runs a hand through his hair, mussing up his fringe and carefully rearranging it.

“Yeah, c’mon!” Phil leans his head against the doorframe, crosses his arms and quirks an eyebrow at Dan. “There’s a session in half an hour, we’ll make it if we leave in the next ten minutes.”

Dan sighs, looks back at the document on his computer.

“I feel like I should probably finish this,” he says, but he sounds hesitant. “I wanna be ready to film tomorrow.”

“You’ve been working all day, you're allowed to have a break.”

Phil can feel his voice getting higher and whinier, but this strange spontaneity that’s been swept in with the snow has gripped him and he’s not letting go. He watches as Dan rolls his eyes and saves the document, bends to pick his coat up off the floor. He hadn’t really thought Dan would say no, but the confirmation that Dan would follow him anywhere makes him reach for Dan’s hand and pull him up from his chair, and the streetlights shine through the blinds on Dan’s window and fall on the walls like snow.

-

There aren’t many people out, the cold and the incoming snow keeping everyone inside by the fire. It’s better like this, he thinks with a strange twinge of sadness. It’s nice not to worry so much about someone recognising them. The emptiness of the streets makes the buildings feel larger, makes the cold air feel crisper, makes the space between himself and Dan dwindle into nothingness and they walk side by side, shoulders brushing and voices drifting softly on the wind.

It’s barely a ten minute walk to the cinema, and no one even once stops them for a picture on the way. Phil steps in a puddle and Dan laughs, skitters away when Phil mimes kicking water at his shins.

“Stop laughing at my pain,” Phil sulks, but Dan just laughs again and elbows him gently in the ribs, shaking his head. The rest of the way there, Dan obnoxiously points out every puddle, pointing to each one and exclaiming loudly, “Phil, be careful!” The nearer they get to the cinema the more frequent it becomes, and they’re both giggling stupidly, and it’s dumb and makes no sense but Phil’s stomach hurts with laughter and he thinks Dan is the best friend he’s ever had, really.

-

They get two large popcorns, and Dan agonises over whether the popcorn here has butter or not ( _“I don’t want to fail at being a vegan again, Phil, I’ve been doing so well.” “If there is butter it’s probably made purely out of artificial flavours anyway, I doubt they’re fancy enough here for real dairy”_ ) and they sit at the back of the theatre. Midway through the adverts the lady next to Dan pulls her knitting out of her bag, and Dan just stares at her in disbelief. He turns to Phil, and the shocked indignation on his face is enough to make Phil snort with laughter.

“What the _fuck?_ ” he hisses in Phil’s ear, his jaw slack in sheer disbelief. Phil gently hooks a finger under Dan’s chin and closes his mouth. It’s dark in the cinema, and they’re at the back, and also he just can’t really find it in him to care right now.

“Do you want to swap seats?” he asks, glancing behind Dan at the lady knitting and trying not to laugh again. It’s such a strange and surreal thing to do, but definitely not the weirdest Phil’s ever come across in his life.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dan says, but he keeps huffing and sneaking baffled glances at the lady each time her knitting needles click particularly loudly. Phil taps Dan’s leg, and Dan turns toward him.

“What would even possess someone to-” but Phil cuts Dan off, standing up and gesturing for Dan to do the same. They switch seats which, Phil thinks, was probably inevitable. When they’re settled again, Dan squeezes Phil’s knee briefly, turns and mouths _thank you_ , and when the lights switch off completely everything is safe and still and they are hidden away at last.

-

The clicking of the lady’s knitting needles mercifully blends in with the music of the film, and when it ends Phil has to swallow down a lump in his throat. He turns to Dan as the lights go up, and predictably, there are tear tracks on his cheeks.

Dan laughs, his voice wet with tears and says, “God, I’m such a sap.” Phil just smiles and squeezes his arm, says “I know, but I am too, so we're both pathetic.”

As they leave the cinema, the velvety piano that had played throughout the film swirls around Phil’s brain and carries him onto the street. Music doesn’t really make sense to him the way it does to Dan, but the soundtrack had been beautiful and it fills his heart with melancholy and nostalgia and serenity all rolled into one. They step onto the street, and it’s so cold Phil has to shove his hands into his pockets.

“Oh shit, it actually did snow!” Dan exclaims, and tiny flakes of snow swirl and drift around them like the piano music in Phil’s brain. The streetlights glow golden and the snow has turned the night sky a soft lilac colour, and Dan stands in the middle of the street with his head turned toward the moon, his hands outstretched to catch the snow.

As they walk back toward the flat, it’s silent but for the wind whispering behind the cars and through the trees and a lone dog barking.

“They should bring it inside, it’s freezing!” Dan insists, and Phil is so, _so_ fond of him. There’s no one around at all, just an old man on his way home from the pub, and Dan looks so soft and warm, his cheeks flushed pink with cold and flecks of snow on his coat, one resting on his hair. Phil draws closer to him, tucks his arm inside Dan’s and rests his head on his shoulder, just briefly.

The snow falls around them, and Phil thinks of a day seven years ago, when he’d woken up in his childhood bedroom to a garden blanketed in white and the first thing he’d thought to do was call Dan. He remembers Dan’s sleepy voice answering the phone, bleary and barely awake but stumbling to look out his window anyway because Phil’s excitement had been infectious. He’d blinked and those seven years had gone by, and now they’re here outside the flat in London they’ve lived in for four years, on the other side of a world tour. Phil’s feet are freezing and soaked through, and Dan’s fringe is starting to curl, but the snow has woken in Phil a childish sense of wonder, as it always does. 

Phil is tucked into Dan’s side, and he thinks they should probably go inside before it starts to thunder but the street is shimmering with frost and it’s so beautiful he doesn’t really want to move. Dan shifts beside him, murmurs “C’mon, let’s go in,” and Phil reaches up to kiss him gently, forgets momentarily that it isn’t safe for them to do this in plain sight the way it is for other people, finds he doesn’t care. It’s as though the snow, and the film, and the quiet emptiness of the streets have lent them the right to do this, for once, so they stand here and the soft piano in Phil’s mind get’s louder but everything is still. Dan gently runs his thumb across Phil’s cheek and smiles, and the universe is empty but for the two of them. Flakes of snow drift slowly down to earth and settle in the street as though they belong here, and the world feels just a little bit magical.

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea how to end this, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway!
> 
> Also, follow me on tumblr: dantique.tumblr.com


End file.
